Sands Of Time
by StandingOnTheRooftops
Summary: 3x4. A spice merchant's son discovers a vast world of customs & people on his trek to Arabia with both old friends- and the rescued slave with clear emerald eyes. Yaoi, het, romance, drama, adventure. Rated M just to be safe for now. Maybe citrus later on
1. The Spice Merchant's Son

_**Sands of Time**_

I apologize. I know I should be working on Empathy and Dare You To Move and Grains of Sand and Waking Up In Vegas and Trial By Fire.... but.... um.... these chapters have been rotting on my computer for about four months now, so I decided I'd just post to see what everyone thought of this story.

A 3x4 set far in the past, almost medeival time period. Quatre, son of an Arabic spice merchant, sets out on a long journey with the Maganacs, his father's contracted traders. Learning strange customs along his way, Quatre saves a green-eyed slave and finds something he never expected.

This is a little different than my usual, but it's still 3x4. And the first few chapters are all kind of short, though they should get longer over time. (It's that way with just about all my fics, I'm afraid.)

And I DO NOT OWN Gundam Wing. I make not a penny off of this. *pouts*

_**Chapter One**_

_**The Spice Merchant's Son**_

The trading city of Kum, Quatre noticed from his very first glance, was much less a city than a sea of tents set up along in the landscape: a wide plain set off by a river and surrounded by mountains. But... they called it a city. And as it was hub for most all trading routes between Africa, Asia, and Europe... it most certainly should be a city. It was here he'd traveled from his less than glamorous home in Venice.

Certainly Master Winner, one of the most successful spice merchants to ever come from Arabia had a very large mansion set up there... but Venice was a rather less than glamorous city. The stagnant waters, the stench, the trash. Quatre... the fourth and youngest Winner child- and coincidently the only boy... had hated Venice, and when his father suggested that at age eighteen, it was high time he learned the family trade... Quatre leaped at the chance to explore the world beyond his family's two homes... Normandy and Venice.

And from here in Kum, it was on to Arabia, where his father was from. It was a long journey, long since he'd left Venice... and even longer still until Arabia, and then Asia. No-one but two others besides him knew he wasn't planning to return straight to Venice after Arabia, like his father expected.

But Quatre was content. Master Kushrenada had taken him this far under his so called apprenticeship, but from here, Quatre knew he would be going on with a band of Arabian merchants, friends of his father's. His father had been born and raised in Arabia, in the desert, but had moved to Venice and married a French knight's daughter, Quatre's mother.

The tall, ginger haired man astride the beige stallion beside him sent him a small smile.

"The real trading will begin at sun-up, Master Winner. Why don't you wonder around and take in the sights, hm? Duo... accompany him, wouldn't you?" It wasn't that he didn't trust Quatre, but rather he would take no chances with his bosses only son.

"Right, boss," The braided young boy behind him nodded. It was one of the two interpreters who'd came along from Venice. It was far from Duo's first visit to Kum. Duo'd traveled from France to the furthest reaches of China and back again, and was now on his second trip east. Always shadowing the slim twenty-year old was an equally young man with slanted eyes and gold skin. From what Quatre knew, Heero- for that was the second boy's name- was a slave that Duo had taken in on that first trip, far, far to the very easternmost coast of China. Apparently, Heero had been taken from his island home and sold into slavery on the mainland, where he'd come into Duo's care. The braided youth treated his companion less like a slave and more like a friend, an equal. It was an odd relationship, Quatre thought. Duo was bright, boisterous, exuberant. But Heero was quiet, withdrawn. But they apparently got along just fine.

Quatre had become quite fond of Duo- and Heero- during their trip so far and the time they'd spent together in Venice, and knew that Duo would be continuing on with him into Arabia. It made him a little less apprehensive... at least he would know two people in this new caravan.

Taking care of and bedding down their horses, the three set out. Duo and Quatre did most of the talking, with Heero putting in a few words in his odd accent here and there. Heero's clothes were as fine as Duo's, so if one did not know, one would never have though him a slave. It was early afternoon when they started out, the sun barely past it's zenith, and by the time they'd finished perusing a good share of the stalls and merchants, the sun was preparing to sink and they were winding their way back to their own seclusion of tents. But a commotion from a fairly large tent they passed on their way back stopped Quatre.

"What is going on there?"

Duo grabbed his hand, Heero tensed.

"Slave Market," Duo hissed. "A place not for the likes of you, youngling. Too fair of heart for that sort."

"But it sounds like their hurting someone," Quatre persisted, trying to pull away.

"They probably are," Heero said. "That's what they do when you're a slave. Now please, let's leave this place."

Quatre moved towards Duo, as if accenting, but the moment the other boy's grip eased, Quatre twisted out of it and entered the tent.

Duo groaned, and after a quick look at Heero, moved after him.

"Don't worry, 'Ro," he said. "Just stay out here."

But Heero was not deterred. Pressed closely to Duo's back, the former slave followed his former master into the one place he feared.


	2. The Slave Market

_**Sands Of Time**_

_**Chapter Two**_

_**The Slave Market**_

The stench in the place was the first thing to hit Quatre. The over-powering perfumes and colognes of the traders, and the ripe, unclean smell of the slaves.

And slaves there were. The Auctions were finished, and the traders all bustling their acquisitions out to their respective parts of the city.

Quatre's eyes widened as he took in the huddled masses of slaves, most covered in dirt and grime, hunched over, drug along.

"Quatre," Duo hissed, latching back onto the petite blonde's arm. "Let's go."

But Quatre was looking around, appalled by what he saw. How could people treat other humans like this? This was horrible, cruel... inhuman. Of course they'd had slaves back in Venice... and in their Normandy summer house, but Zayeed Winner treated all his slaves the same as regular servants. They were clean, healthy, well-feed, and even if not happy with their lot in life, they were better off than they'd be in other places.

Then he caught sight of what had originally drawn him in, and heard someone yelling in Arabic. Quatre moved closer, pulling Duo, and thus Heero, further into the melee, closer to where the yelling was emanating from.

Quatre understood clearly what was being said. he was fluent in Arabic, Latin, his mother's native Norman French, and knew just a little of a few other languages his father had thought suitable.

"... ignorant.... deaf, dumb... not worth a single copper... can't believe what I payed for... useless!"

Quatre moved in, noticing a trader striking a huddled overslave with a short whip with several leather braids on the end.

"Excuse me, sir," Quatre said, moving in between the slave and the trader. "But what cause do you have for such treatment?"

"Move, whelp, 'for I strike you, as well."

Duo had let go and now stood staring at his usually meek friend stand up for the filthy slave. Memories of a similar time, a few years ago, came to him, and he didn't intervene. Quatre pulled himself up to his rather pitiful full height, and brought all of the in-bred aristocracy from both sides of his family down to bear. Quatre in what his sisters called his 'zone' was a sight to be reckoned with. He could talk a starving man out of his last piece of bread if he had a mind to.

"What cause, sir?" Quatre repeated. The trader blinked once at the tone, now regarding the strange pale fellow as a fellow merchant and not a child.

"Ignorant, he is," the trader, a rather lard-like tall man, snapped. "Mute, deaf, and dumb. Payed a fair price for him not one moon ago, and now, none will buy him! Fights like a wildcat one moment, dumb as a dormouse the next. I have half a mind to slay the thing now, save myself the trouble and expense of getting him to the next market!"

"You will do no such thing," Quatre said. He really had no idea what had possessed him. He carried a small coin purse around with him, just for emergencies and such, and now he pulled a single silver coin from it. "Not worth a single copper, then here. You will sell him for a silver, no?"

"Now listen here," the slaver said, taken aback. "I was just exaggerating. He's worth at least ten silver pieces."

Quatre looked at Duo. "He did just say, not one moment ago, that this slave was not worth a single copper, correct?"

Duo, with Heero stuck like a leech against his back, nodded with a small grin. He didn't know what had gotten into his petite friend, but he would help him as best he could. "Yes, I do believe he did. And 'round here, that's as good as stating a price. Seems to me you've offered more than what Master Trader here thinks the slave is worth. I wonder what others would think of this man's reneging on a stated price?"

Duo knew what others would think. A few well placed words and this man's business would lay in ruins. No one would trade with him. The man's face paled.

"Fine," he snapped. "Take the damnable thing and give me the silver," he took the coin that Quatre dropped in his hand, steaming for the loss as he shoved the papers to Quatre; the slave, at a different market, would have sold- and for a heftier price than a single silver piece. At least fifteen silvers. Damned thing was fair to look at, but a devil to control. He scowled and just kicked the slave towards Quatre and turned and marched away. "He's your problem now," he tossed over his shoulder, along with the key to the restraints.

Quatre blinked, catching the key in a deft and automatic movement, and for the first time really took notice of what just happened. He looked down at the shackled slave. What in Allah's name had he done? He blinked again, rationality over-riding his momentary shock. He bent down to unlock the shackles that bound the slave's feet, and for the first time actually looked at the slave. Looked beneath the dirt and grim, at the person underneath. Clear, steady green eyes looked back at him from under what looked to be auburn colored hair.

"Easy, there," he said, in the soft French he'd spoken most often back home, as he unlocked the foot shackles. "Can you stand? Walk?"

With a hand underneath an arm, Quatre lifted, surprised at how easily the slave stood, at how light he felt. "Come on," he turned, and with a hand on the thin arm, led the slave away from the market.

Duo followed, with Heero still clinging to him.

Duo wore a worried little smile, while Heero's face was as impassive as ever.

"You're worried," Heero muttered into Duo's ear, speaking a language from his homelands, far to the east of here.

"I am," Duo replied softly. "Part of me can't help but think this is a mistake. Quatre could be hurt if that slave is as wild as the trader says."

"You're assuming Quatre will keep him as a slave," Heero said.

"True... I can't see Quatre keeping a slave. And then a part of me can't help but remember how well we turned out," Duo added, smiling a little more. He reached a hand back and caressed Heero's arm for a moment, before continuing on, away from the slave market.


	3. The GreenEyed Slave

_**Sands Of Time**_

_**Chapter Three**_

_**The Green-Eyed Slave**_

The sun was completely down by the time Quatre led his new slave into his personal tent. He'd purposely bypassed Kushrenada's tent, knowing the older trader would have something to say about his purchase.

The moment the flaps of the tent closed, Quatre let out a breath, and turned to the slave. He took the key and moved to the take the slave's hands.

"I will not strike you, or kick you, or whip you... or starve you," he added after noticing the thin-ness of the slave under the sack-like clothes, "I'm going to remove these, now, but please don't try to run." He unlocked the shackles, relieved when the chains fell to the floor, and the slave stood there. Standing up and not hunched over,the slave was a few inches taller than himself. Quatre turned the hands over in his, noting the rawness from where the shackles had chaffed the wrists, and the marks on the arms from the whip. He moved to the wash basin, pouring a bowlful of water and dipping a clean cloth in it. When he turned back around, the slave was still standing there. "Come here, sit, please," he motioned to a richly padded seat. Slowly, ever so slowly- with those green eyes still locked onto him, the slave moved to the seat and sat down.

Quatre took the slave's hands and began to gently clean the wounds around those wrists, washing away the blood and dirt. "I'll have Duo find someone to bring a warm bath, and I'll see about getting some clothes brought, as well. And bandages," he muttered, cleaning out the open scars as gingerly as he could.

"Quat..." Duo peeked his head in, not surprised to see his blond friend on his knees, cleaning the wounds on the slaves wrists. "I just sent out for a bath to be brought, is that okay?"

Quatre sighed with a smile. "Duo- you read my mind."

Duo grinned. "Yeah. I been through this before, remember? I also brought a change of Heero's clothes. Figured you'd want to see him in clean dressings, y'know? But tailor's not open til sunrise and we're both too short." He set a bundle down just inside the tent. "Here's the clothes, bath should be here in... well, about now," he moved and motioned in as three slaves carried in a large but shallow basin filled with steaming water. They sat it in the center of the tent, then left.

"Y'need anything else?" Duo asked.

"No. And thank you, Duo," Quatre said.

"No problem," Duo smiled, then ducked back out.

"Why don't you go ahead and bathe," Quatre asked, pointing to the bath. The slave eyed the tub speculatively, then stood and went to it. "Hand me that sack you're wearing- I'll have it burned. And do you have a name? Mine is Quatre. Quatre Raberba Winner."

The slave obviously had no modesty issue, for he removed the cloth as bidden, then sank into the water. Quatre refrained from looking, but took the cloth. "I'll return in a little while. The clothes are in the bundle, as Duo said. Whether you're here when I return or not... well, that's up to you. You're free. You have your freedom."

With that, Quatre turned and moved to exit the tent.

"Thank you,"

The voice was so soft, Quatre almost missed it. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the slave, smiling. Green eyes met his squarely, still wary but un-afraid now.

"You're welcome," he returned, then moved to exit the tent again.

Green eyes followed the small, blond haired-blue eyed boy as he left the tent. Why did he say that? And what was with this boy? He was... different. First, his kind and gentle ways, his politeness, then cleaning his wounds... and now... granting him his freedom?

What was wrong with this boy? The slave knew how fair he was, having been told so often enough- usually followed by curses about his temperament. But this boy didn't seem to care about that. Or his temper. He had thought of bolting the moment he was clear of the market... but the boy had been kind. Polite to him. So, he'd found himself in the tent. And then the boy had removed the shackles, washed his aching, raw wrists. He had spoken in a soft, nice voice, and his hands had been gentle. And so... he'd stayed. He could have ran. But he'd stayed and now, he was free?

A part of him wanted to disbelieve it. But a part of him *knew* that this young man was different than any other he'd seen along his journey- both before and after slavery.

He took his time washing, scrubbing his skin clean of over a years worth of grime and filth. And when, long after the water had chilled, he deemed himself clean enough- though he still felt dirty- he dried and donned the clothes from the bundle the braided boy had left, wincing as the cloth slid over the whip wounds on his back. The sleeves and ankles were both too short, but at least they were clean and free from holes. He dried his hair, noting that it was far, far too long. It all reached past his shoulders in tangles; he would need to find someone to cut it- and soon. He'd never worn his hair this long before he'd become a slave.

He'd never done alot of things before he'd been a slave- and he swore never to do some of those things again. It was that moment that the blond returned, bearing a tray with some food on it.

Aquamarine eyes lit up when they saw him standing there in the center of the tent, unsure as to what to do.

"You stayed," was all the blond commented on. He moved, set the tray down. "I thought you might be hungry, if you did. I didn't bring much- I wasn't sure what kind of diet they had you on, and I don't want you to get sick from eating too much too fast. There's a light soup, and cheese, and some fruit. We'll gradually get you back up to normal portions... if you stay. I'm only at Kum for another three nights or so. Duo, Heero and I leave out with an Arabic merchant heading back towards Arabia." It was only at this point that the slave really thought. His savior was speaking Norman French, his own language, and had been since the very begining. He understood enough Arabic, and he knew Market Latin pretty well, but his native born language had been French.

It was food for thought.

"Thank you," he said again, surprised at how soft his voice came out. He was so unused to speaking, letting the bastards that enslaved him think he was mute. But he was speaking now.

"Y'know, you can talk to me if you like," the boy smiled, happy with those two words. "I know you just pretend to be deaf and dumb and mute and all that. I don't blame you. I would have too. But I don't mind talking... or listening."

The slave thought for a moment, considering this.

"I don't have a name," he said after a moment. "But if you must call me something... call me Trowa. Trowa Barton."

~*~*~*~

A/N: Okay... some parts of this aren't quite historically accurate. My vision of Venice is several years or so removed from the rather medieval time period everything else is based on. That should be the only *major* inconsistency. Of course, several names such as China and so on are simply used for clarification. Lots of names were different in that day in age. And of course, they're all speaking a different language. And most of the ideas come from the book 'The Unexpected Dragon', just in case you were wondering!


	4. The Maganacs

_**Sands Of Time**_

_**Chapter Four**_

_**The Maganacs**_

That first night was awkward. Too late for an extra bed to be brought in, and unable for a pallet to sleep on the floor (ants and mosquito's were the main woes in Kum and *no-one* slept on the floor. The legs of all the beds set in basins of water to deter the ants, and nets and foul smelling jars of lotions and rubs deterred the flying insects), Trowa had to sleep in the rather large bed with Quatre.

It was a fairly common practice, especially amongst the poor, but Quatre had never slept with anyone but family- and Duo and Heero, at a few Inns along their way (but they didn't count, Quatre reasoned. Duo practically *was* family already). But for Trowa, it was awkward for another reason entirely.

Along his own journey, as a slave, he'd encountered several children and older men that the traders had referred to as 'bum boys'. It didn't take Trowa long to discover why these pretty ones were so much more well kept than others. Several traders had been interested in *him* for this kind of work. And Trowa had fought tooth and nail to ensure that no-one wanted a hellion such as him for their bed. And, at twenty-two, he was much too old by most preferences, so he'd been spared that route in life.

Trowa knew deep inside that this Quatre was different, and probably wasn't into the practice as others were. And Trowa was free now, and could refuse if Quatre propositioned him. But Trowa didn't want to find out. He didn't want to be in that position to *have* to refuse.

As it turned out, Trowa needn't have worried, for Quatre kept as far away as possible in the bed. By morning, though, the edges had grown uncomfortable, and they'd both moved in their sleep to the more comfortable center of the bed. His first thought was very negative towards Quatre when Trowa awoke first to feel a warm body snuggled up next to his. But his second thoughts canceled that, because his second thought was in noticing that it was *his* own arms wrapped around Quatre. That is was *his* leg tossed carelessly over Quatre's.

He un-wound himself and scrambled from the bed before Quatre could wake, horrified. Before he'd been a slave, he'd shared beds with others. His family had been poor, and owned only one bed for the four of them, and after, during his travels, he'd still been relatively poor and had ended up having to share a bed more often than not. But he'd never woken up *cuddling* someone. Even on the occasion he'd bedded a woman... he'd never awoke wrapped around them. He'd been afraid that Quatre would proposition him. Foolish, when here the exact opposite was true! Horrified, he wondered if, he'd not been a slave himself.... would he have been one of the traders, using pretty little boys?

* * *

The day went by smoothly, and the next. Quatre brought more clothes for Trowa... clothes that fit properly. They'd found a motherly trader's wife to cut Trowa's hair to a more respectable length; the back now clean cut, the front falling over his face and hiding his eyes... much the same as it had before his life as a slave. And Quatre had explained to Kushrenada the situation in between bartering and exchanges of their mercantile goods.

A bed never was able to be found, so the next night, and the next, Trowa spent restlessly, not wanting to wake up wrapped around the petite blond again. He remained silent throughout the days, and found an odd sort of companionship with Heero, whom he learned had been in his exact situation, and as confused then as Trowa was now. He got on well with Duo, who reminded him of his own sister... wherever she may be now. And Quatre- well, with Quatre things were... different. The blond was friendly and kind, and Trowa found himself speaking to him more and more; an odd, wary friendship blossomed between them. There was something about the other that was unlike any other merchant or noble that Trowa'd ever encountered.

But Trowa was still afraid. Oh, he trusted Quatre- so far there was nothing the blond had done to be distrusting of. Trowa was afraid of himself, of the new and un-familiar feelings inside him.

Like Heero, he busied himself with small tasks, taking care of the horses, playing guard, and often simply shadowing his 'master'. Despite himself, Trowa found himself enjoying the routine. Mornings were often spent following the merchant and apprentice as they went about their business- which Trowa didn't even try to understand. Trading one hundred of these things, for fifty of those, just in turn to trade them for seventy-five of something else and so on. Often, things would be bought and sold before Trowa had a chance to blink.

It was unusual for him, but interesting sometimes to see his little 'savior' bartering and arguing with older merchants; most of the time, Quatre left smiling- having got what he wanted. Trowa questioned Heero about it, waiting outside a tent while Quatre and Kushrenada, with a little translation help from Duo, were inside haggling over some spice or other.

Heero shrugged. "Duo does what he does because he likes it. He's getting paid to talk- which is what he does best," he added with a grin. "But Quatre... I'm never sure of. He enjoys this.... but I don't think it's what he's meant to do. Like Duo and traveling... Only, Quatre's yet to find his destiny."

* * *

On their third day there, a messenger arrived around noon to tell them that the Maganac caravan would be leaving at first light and to give them the location of the caravan's departure. So Duo and Quatre made all their goodbyes to Kushrenada's group.

As the evening progressed, Quatre stopped Trowa just after dinner, inside of the tent they'd been sharing.

"I'm going tomorrow with the Arab's," the blond said. "You can accompany us, or you can stay in Kum for a while longer. I can arrange for Master Kushrenada to take you back as far as Venice- it will be easy for you to reach France from there." At Trowa's narrowed gaze, he smiled. "You are French, then. You speak it, and you have the looks. I just wasn't sure. So, it is up to you. I can arrange for you to work for my father, if needs be. Anything you like."

"Which would you prefer I do?" Trowa asked, after a moment's thought.

Quatre blushed scarlet and backed up, eyes wary. "I've told you... you're free. I *am not* your master, and I don't want to be."

"I didn't ask what you would *command* me do," Trowa returned. "But questioned what you would *prefere* I do."

Quatre swallowed, looking at this new side to Trowa. What would he prefer Trowa do? It would be best for Trowa to work his way back to civilization with Kushrenada, earn enough money by working in Venice to afford his way to France- to his family. That was the sensible thing. But the sensible thing and what Quatre wanted were two different things.

"I'd like for you to come with us," he said softly, eyes lowered. "It will be a strange land for me, and strange people. As far as I know, I'll only know Duo and Heero. It would be nice to know someone else. I will not have a slave, but I will *pay* you for whatever you consent to do; I could use another friend on this journey. I know my father expects me to return soon, after visiting family in Arabia, but I will travel on through China, and then it will be even harder going. Heero doesn't accept many people, but he seems to get on well with you, as does Duo. I think it would be easier... more interesting, more fun... if you traveled with us. It would be most sensible for you to return to your own family... but I would like for you to come." Truth be known, he felt some odd kinship with this former-slave. A man that towered over him, yet seemed as meek as the mice of the field; a man that was a newly freed slave, and yet still walked with the bearings of a prince. He couldn't explain it, only that he *knew* he wanted this man to stay close, for a little while longer at least.

Trowa nodded. "Then I'll come with you."

Quatre looked startled. "But... what about your family? Shouldn't you go back?"

Trowa shrugged. "I left them many years ago. My parents are dead... my sister probably married and with children by now. They have no need of me. You need me... and yet you set me free. In five years of slavery... no-one's shown me that much kindness. I'll come with you, when you leave."

Realizing he was pressing Fate, Quatre nodded. It also occured to him that this was the most Trowa's spoken in a single day. He settled for simply smiling up at his new friend.

"Okay."

* * *

Quatre had truly thought he'd be traveling into unknown lands with people he didn't know. But how surprised he was when he saw that dark skinned, hulking Arab at the lead of the caravan.

"Rashid!"

A small smirk played across the Arab's lips at the enthusiasm of the petite blond bouncing up to him.

"Master Winner. It's been awhile, has it not?"

"Ages," Quatre replied in Arabic. "How is Abdul? Is Auda recovered from that horrible knife wound?"

Rashid laughed heartily. "Thanks to you, my friend, my family is safe and whole."

"I had no idea I'd be traveling with you. You never mentioned the name Maganac before."

Rashid shrugged. "It never occurred to us. But now, you will travel with us! You will be a Maganac. My brother!"

Quatre laughed as Duo looked on with a queer look on his face.

"No-one'd ever believe we were kin!" He turned to his three onlookers... the brown-haired Duo, the blue-eyed Heero, and the green-eyed Trowa. "Duo... This is Rashid Kurama. Remember, I told you about the scuffle on that ferry? These are them!" Turning back to Rashid, he smiled brilliantly.

"Well, then. Shall we head out? We've got so much to talk about you and I."

"First, why don't you introduce me to your companions, Master Winner? We have a long journey ahead of us... plenty of time to talk."

"Oh, of course. Rashid, this is Duo Maxwell originally from Trieste- an interpreter of many, many languages. His traveling companion, Heero Yuy, well versed in Market Latin and fluent in several of the oriental languages, with some Arabic. They've come with me since Venice, and I've traveled with them to Verona once before. And Trowa Barton, of course," he added with a bright smile.

"Trowa? I believe the letter we received said only two companions traveled with you, Master Quatre."

"Trowa's a recent addition," Quatre explained. "He only just joined us a few days past. It's a rather odd story, but he will be coming with us."

Rashid Kurama just smiled knowingly, and waved at his caravan.

"Then come, friends of Quatre. Let us be off."


	5. Duo and The Blacksmith

_**Sands Of Time**_

_**Chapter Five**_

_**(Intermission One) **_

_**Duo and The Blacksmith**_

Duo held a hand out and swung Heero up onto the horse behind him. The Asian boy's arms wrapped around his waist, comfortably holding him. They'd done this thousands of times before, riding for long distances, pressed against each other. Once, it had been a hard task. First, because they didn't get along very well, and then because they got along *too* well.

Eyes cast about as the others were mounting and moving out, noting how Trowa slid into position behind Quatre on the snow white Arabian steed, Duo remembered how he'd come to be here. Where had it all started?

Sure, it might have been when he was just a kid, dreaming about exploring. Or it may have been when he'd stowed away upon a ship- the _Sweeper_- and ended up befriending the captain and getting a *real* job. Or at any other point between Verona, Venice and now. But Duo didn't really consider all of that. He was here because of Heero. His life never really started until that day out, far from here, at a small trading village along the furthest shore of Asia.

_***FLASHBACK***_

Duo'd always had a knack for languages. That was why Howard had let him stick around so long aboard the Sweeper, because Duo caught onto languages faster than anyone he'd ever seen. He'd gone from being a barely literate orphan to fluently speaking and reading in Latin, French, *and* Arabic... all in about two years. So it was no surprise to him that he caught onto the languages this far East. He'd always wanted to explore, and now he was, using his skills at translating to pay his way, and pick up a little extra from his own bargains and merchanting. But now... he'd come as far East as they said he could. The waves lapped at the shore just outside the village. Oh, sure. He knew from tales that there were islands in that ocean, and that he could probably get there. But the way was very dangerous, the winds and water making the journey treacherous. And he was feeling slightly homesick. He missed Howard, and Italy, and everything he'd left behind so many *years* ago. He'd never been on a time frame, and so had wandered almost aimlessly east until he'd came here. Now, he felt the urge to turn around and head back.

He was wandering down by the market, thinking of bartering for some fine silk, as a gift to the kind, aged widow that he'd been staying with for the past month or so while the last of the spring flooding stopped and the way to go back would be safer. He hated staying at inns, even when he could. It was much nicer, almost family-like, to find some kind old soul to spend quiet evenings with. Almost like a home. It was there that the commotion caught his attention, a clattering of metal, a screeching and yelling. He wandered closer, observing as a blacksmith tossed a mis-shapen horse's shoe at a cowering little boy. As Duo watched in slight horror, the clod of still slightly heated metal hit the boy right in the shoulder. A barely audiable whimper reached his ears through the ranting.

"Greetings, Master Blacksmith," Duo said, plastering an all-too-fake smile upon his face.

The blacksmith, a bulky man who was taller than most of the Asians Duo'd met. He taller than Duo, who at sixteen towered over many Asians.

"Yes? Can I help you, young Traveler?" Duo smiled more. Anywhere he went, he was Traveler. A young foreigner.

"I was wondering how much the horse's shoes for my mare would be, although I am wondering if it is worth it. This one seems to be causing you troubles."

"Indeed," the man snorted. "Bought him off of some sailors some five winters ago. Been nothing but trouble ever since."

Duo peered at the boy, covered by nothing but dirt and a loin-cloth... inadequate protection against the chill of the spring. "He don't look like normal Asians, if'n you don't mind me saying."

"Sailor claimed he caught him on them islands across the sea. I thought he'd be good help, seeing as I'm not as young as I once was. That was a mistake. Good for nothing, not worth what I spent on him."

"Then mayhaps you'd be willing to sell him?"

The blacksmith eyed him warily, but the boy looked positively shocked. From the corner of his eyes, Duo could see chocolate brown hair and eyes the color of the blue in sodalite. From the shape of his eyes and face, Duo guessed he must be some type of half-breed. He'd never seen any Asians with blue eyes.

"And what would you be needing a slave-boy for?"

Duo shrugged. "I'm turning back West as soon as the floods stop. Someone to carry the packs might be useful. It's a very long way to my old home."

The blacksmith nodded. "And how would you be paying?"

Duo hid his regret over parting with it, but he pulled from his change purse a large shimmering gold coin.

"This should cover it."

The blacksmith's eyes gleamed at the sight of the coin.

"Any trader worth his fodder would be willing to trade this for whatever you needed."

"Deal," the blacksmith barked, snatching the coin from Duo's fingers. "You can take the boy. He's your trouble now."

Duo held out his hand. "If you'll shake on it then." The man eyed him warily, but knew of the ritual from other traders. So he shook his hand, and Duo jerked his head at the boy.

"Come along. You'll be going with me, now."

The boy seemed uncertain for a moment, before the blacksmith snapped out, kicking at him. "Go on, get. You belong to him now. Be off with you!"

The boy scrambled after Duo, trying to hid behind him.

"Easy," Duo whispered, the touch of his hand gentle on the thin shoulder. "I won't hurt you. Come on, we need to get you some clothing."

Without a backwards glance, Duo turned and left the blacksmith, the wary boy keeping just a step behind him. Duo stopped by a tailors and picked up a set of clothing that should fit the slave... and talked the tailor down on the price of a strip of fine sky blue silk that caught his eye.

Duo saw Ling at the door of her quaint little house. The petite, middle-aged woman cast a worried look at the boy behind her young house-guest.

"I rescued him off a blacksmith," Duo told the woman.

She nodded. "He'll need clean clothes, a bath." She sniffed, her black eyes raking over the boy. "And food. Maybe not in that order."

Duo grinned, hefting the bundle from the tailor. "Check on the clothes already."

"Water's out back. I'll cook an early meal for today."

"Thank you," he bowed to the woman and lead the still silent boy around back.

"What's your name?" Duo questioned, pumping the water.

"..."

Duo raised an eyebrow and finally appraised his 'purchase'. Standing, the boy was an inch taller than himself, but very malnourished. Duo withdrew his opinion of the slave's age. He had to be at least seventeen, if not eighteen.

"You can speak to me," he said lightly. "And Ling. We won't hurt you."

"I... I not remember," was the reply, heavily accented, stuttering as if not only unused to speaking... but unused to speaking in this language. Prussian eyes glared at him, almost daring him to object. Duo almost smirked. He'd guessed the slave was mute, maybe weak-willed. But he could see a glint in those eyes now. Perhaps the reason the blacksmith had wanted to be rid of him.

Duo smiled. "Okay then. What do you want me to call you? What name do you want?"

The slave stared at him, as if trying to discern if Duo was for real. Finally, he said something that sounded like a name, but in a completely different language than any Duo knew.

"Hmm," Duo thought. "Heero? I guess it has a ring to it. So Heero it will be. Why don't you get in there and scrub up? I'm sure Ling wouldn't like dirty little ragamuffins at her table."

The self named Heero got in the water, eyes never leaving Duo.

"You not Chinese." It was a statement, not a question. Duo laughed.

"No. I'm Italian."

"I not know that word."

"I'm from a land far, far from here."

"Nights? Or Moons?"

Duo laughed again. Even while those eyes glared at him, the curiosity came out... in little more than baby-talk no less.

"Seasons," Duo stated. "Years." Heero's eyes widened in amazement.

"That very far," he said at last.

Duo couldn't help but laugh again.

He got the feeling he was really going to like this boy.

_***End Flashback***_

"What are you thinking about?" Heero's breath washed over Duo's ear; the words were spoken in a husky whisper, in a language unknown to the others of their group. Duo shivered, but smiled.

"How we first met," he said. He could feel Heero smirking.

"I like that story," he admitted.

Duo laughed, "Me too."

Quatre sent him an odd questioning look, but Duo just shook his head.

"Shut up before everyone starts to think I'm crazy!" he hissed at the man behind him, unwittingly slipping back into Latin.

"Too late," Trowa deadpanned.


End file.
